


The Dance

by Grundy



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship, F/M, First Age, Meet-Cute, Nargothrond, brothers being devious, one big dysfunctional Finwion family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 04:53:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20285725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grundy/pseuds/Grundy
Summary: Finduilas is excited to finally be grown up enough to make her own decisions, even if that includes the vexing problem of who to dance with.





	The Dance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [esmeraldablazingsky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/esmeraldablazingsky/gifts).

> This story is part of the Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2019, and goes with [Princess-Faelivrin](https://princess-faelivrin.tumblr.com/)'s [Dancing As A Substitute For Trying To Verbally Articulate Feelings](https://princess-faelivrin.tumblr.com/post/187315897008/one-of-two-pieces-for-the-tolkien-reverse-summer).

Finduilas sighed as she ducked under the surface of the water.

It would be so much nicer to have someone to talk to in the bath, but her girl friends who might normally splash and gossip in the bathing room with her were all either bathing and dressing with their families or were part of the group that had gone to Doriath with her parents.

And, of course, she couldn’t have Gildor in here. It had apparently been acceptable to the Noldor if they shared a bath when they were young, but by their standards, it was scandalous for adults to bathe in mixed company, relatives or not.

She supposed she had no one but herself to blame for her current predicament. She could have accompanied her parents to visit Great-Uncle Elu. But it was the first time in her life she’d been offered the choice of whether or not to go, and she had worried that if she didn’t take this chance, it might be years before she got another.

\---

“You are of age now, my dove,” her mother explained. “You are a  _ young _ adult, but an adult nonetheless. It is time that you begin to make your own decisions, and this is as good a one as any to begin with. If you wish to celebrate Tarnin Austa, Uncle Ingo will be happy for your presence here in Nargothrond. If you would rather visit our kin in Doriath, no one will think that at all amiss either. You are free to choose as you will without any worries about how others will react.”

Finduilas was torn. She did want to see her Lindarin relatives – not only did she miss their company, there were many things she was hoping they might get to do.

Aunt Nimmy had promised that once she was old enough, she’d get a chance to see some of the borders, and she might actually be old enough now. It would be only the safer southern borders, of course, but it would be exciting to be allowed even that much.

Uncle Eöl had said that if she took interest in such things, he could teach her a few tricks in the forge the golodhrim didn’t know. While she knew perfectly well she was still too much a novice for him to take her on as an apprentice, she was happy to learn anything he felt she was ready for him to teach. Not to mention, it was expected that a princess of the Noldor know  _ something _ about the craft.

Finduilas was also intensely curious to see if Nana was correct about Uncle Oropher’s interest in a certain lissome marchwarden…perhaps things might be far enough that she could hint that she would be happy to be the flower maiden at the wedding?

But at the same time, there was no better way to show Nargothrond that she was a grown-up now than remaining there while her parents went to Doriath, staying in her own rooms rather than moving into Uncle Ingo’s apartments or having her grandfather come to watch over her as they had done a few times when she was younger and her parents had been away. And Tarnin Austa was one of her favorite holidays…

“You and Atto will not be disappointed if I stay?” she asked her mother.

Merelin laughed.

“If we could not bear to have you stay, we would not have offered the decision to you,” she replied. “Be easy on that score, darling. We will miss you, of course, but it is healthy for us to learn to bear such separations as well as you. Now that you are grown, your father will be expected to take a more active role in the north, and both my uncle and your father’s uncle will expect me to take on duties that may take me traveling more often also.”

Finduilas had known on some level that would happen – her parents have been able to remain in Nargothrond for her childhood and youth, but a prince of the Noldor and princess of the Lindar are far more useful outside Uncle Ingo’s hidden stronghold than within it. Her father would go assist in the Siege of Angband, up north with his father and other uncle. (She would like to see her grandfather, but she knew perfectly well she wasn’t adult enough for a trip to Tol Sirion in the eyes of  _ anybody _ . Maybe in another yen, provided the situation in the north was still stable.)

“What will you do?” she asked curiously.

“Brithombar and Eglarest must not be neglected, and you and Gildor are both too inexperienced to be trusted with such missions yet,” her mother replied. “Though I imagine eventually that will fall to you two. There are also several other delicate matters I would be the best person to attend to, and a few of those have been put off some years.”

Finduilas took that to mean she was still too young to be told everything, and did not press for any more detail. If she wanted to know such things, she would need to prove to her parents, grandfather, and Uncle Ingo that she could be discreet. (It didn’t mean she wouldn’t put her head together with Gildor later. If they pooled what they knew, it might be enough to work it out or at least make a good guess.)

“But back to what  _ you _ are doing, my dove,” Merelin continued. “You will not entirely miss seeing your kin if you choose to stay here. Some of your father’s uncles may be here, and your Aunt Galadriel and Uncle Celeborn have written that they intend to come for a visit. They will arrive in a few weeks, just before your father and I depart.”

“Gildor will be pleased to hear that,” Finduilas grinned.

Galadriel and Celeborn were favorites of theirs, but unlike Finduilas, Gildor has never gotten to go visit Doriath, so he saw them only when they came to Nargothrond.

“Why does Uncle Ingo never let Gildor go with us?” she asked.

She might have been too blunt with the question, but she’d wondered about it for some time, and might be old enough for a real answer now rather than just ‘it’s your Uncle Ingo’s decision, darling.’

“I suppose you might as well know,” her mother sighed. “It’s a rather unpleasant bit of history. Not long before you were born, Uncle Elu learned the truth about Alqualondë.”

Finduilas shivered at the mention of the Kinslaying. She was thankful her father and grandfather had not been involved in that terrible crime. It occasionally frightened her to remember that Aunt Galadriel had been, even if she had been defending the Lindar.

“His wrath was great, and in his anger, Uncle Elu ordered Uncle Ingo, your grandfather, your father, Uncle Aiko, and Aunt Galadriel all to leave Doriath.”

Finduilas blinked.

“But…if it was just before I was born,” she began uncertainly.

Merelin nodded grimly.

“I was carrying you, and it was some months before you would come into the light. I had to choose whether to depart with your father, or to remain with my kin.”

“But that’s awful!” Finduilas gasped. “That doesn’t sound like Uncle Elu at all!”

“As I said, my dove, he acted in anger, and without thinking his decree through. Nor was I the only one who felt the harshness of his wrath. Your Aunt Galadriel and Uncle Celeborn were newly married, and Celeborn was not given a choice whether or not to accompany her when she departed.”

Finduilas gaped at her mother.  _ That _ was as bad as trying to separate new parents.

“Exactly, darling,” Merelin agreed sadly. “I’m afraid your Uncle Ingo has never fully trusted Uncle Elu again after that – I think he fears that were he to allow Gildor to go, even with us, some fresh whim or caprice might lead Uncle Elu to  _ keep _ him there.”

“But Gildor is an adult now, just as I am…” Finduilas trailed off, uncertain how to put the question.

“I think you will find, my dove, that should Gildor make any noises about wishing to go to Doriath, Uncle Ingo will suddenly be needed in Tol Sirion, or require a messenger to deliver a delicate message to Mithrim.”

“You mean Uncle Ingo would try to distract him?” Finduilas asked with a frown. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Perhaps not, but a parent’s worries are not so easily laid to rest.” Her mother smiled. “In time, you may learn that for yourself.”

“But you’ve taken me before,” Finduilas protested. “And we’ve always come back!”

“I trust my uncle not to make the same mistake twice,” her mother replied with a sigh. “It’s also a bit different for us – I grew up with Uncle Elu, he is family I have known from my cradle. Your Uncle Ingo only met him as an adult. Besides, Uncle Elu knew perfectly well he had to put things right so we could visit - Lúthien would have been terribly disappointed not to meet the baby of the family, and Uncle would never want  _ her _ to go beyond the borders.”

“What if Gildor really  _ wants _ to visit?” Finduilas asked, uneasy at the thought that his father would deny him the chance to meet the kin he has only heard of.

“If Gildor truly insists, darling, that may be one thing,” Merelin said thoughtfully. “But in Ingo’s place, I would keep him busy enough that he will have no good way to insist. And possibly extend invitations to Nimmy, Oropher, and Eöl to visit. There is no reason they cannot come here, and every reason they should visit more than just the once.”

“It seems rather harsh of Uncle Ingo,” Finduilas murmured.

“Perhaps,” Merelin said noncommittally. “But Uncle Elu’s actions were also harsh, and cannot be forgotten by those who felt them. He knows that, and rues it now, but there is only so much regret and apology can do. Mark that, my dove, and learn from it – it is vital for a leader to consider their actions and words carefully, especially in anger. It is much harder to repair than to destroy.”

Finduilas was silent for a while, thinking that over.

“I want to stay here for Tarnin Austa, Nana,” she said at last.

“I hope your decision doesn’t rest on Uncle Elu’s bad behavior,” her mother said, in a tone that was not quite a question.

“No. I like Tarnin Austa. And I want to keep Gildor company. And…” Finduilas hesitated. Maybe her last reason was too childish? “And I want to show that I  _ can _ .”

Merelin smiled.

“I can’t say I really expected otherwise,” she said. “We will miss you, of course, darling, but I think this will be good for all of us. Just make sure you behave yourself according to the Noldor, and mind your great-uncle.”

\---

Finduilas surfaced and began to rinse herself off. She still had plenty of time before she needed to leave her rooms, but soaking in the bath for hours wasn’t nearly as much fun by herself. Not that dressing by herself would be much better.

It wasn’t difficult for her to behave herself according to the Noldor, but it was sometimes finicky and annoying. Usually her mother would help her dress, and that would somehow make it okay for Gildor to be there so they could talk while getting ready.

But her mother was not here, so the arcane mysteries of Noldorin propriety dictated that he couldn’t be in the room either, even though she really wanted to ask him about the Noldorin uncle who had just arrived this morning.

Gildor had gotten to meet him already, but Finduilas had been stuck finishing the decoration of the Great Hall for the evening festivities. (She had been sorely tempted to leave it to the steward. Edrahil was more than competent and would see to it that all was complete in time. But she meant to show her parents and Uncle Ingo that she can be treated like an adult now, and dropping everything to run off to meet an uncle probably wasn’t very mature...)

Finduilas examined the robes laid out on her bed one more time. She wanted to be sure they were just right. She had to be what the people of Nargothrond – not just the ones who lived in the stronghold itself, but all the ones from the outlying districts that were part of her great-uncle’s kingdom who were coming for Tarnin Austa – expected in their young princess. She had a responsibility to them.

It would have been a good deal easier if she were only Noldorin. She wouldn’t have to do such a balancing act. But she was the child of Merilin of Doriath and Artaresto Angaration – kin to Elu Thingol as well as the High King and princes of the Noldor. She couldn’t be just one or the other. She had to behave in a way that satisfied both peoples. Formal occasions like this were always a series of compromises.

Her clothes reflected that. Tonight’s outfit was no different. The rich colors and the gold embroidery were Noldorin. But the sleeves were sheer, a nod to the standards of her mother’s people – indeed, the darker overdress would have been acceptable on its own in Doriath. But that would be shocking to the Noldor, if not an outright scandal, so there was a solid white underdress that kept her legs covered and modified the neckline to something that would have been acceptable in faraway Tirion.

She’s never been to Tirion. Her grandfather and great-uncles liked to talk about it to her, but for all they’ve told her she still can’t quite picture it. She doubted that was different for any of the children of the Exiles begotten in Beleriand. She was pretty sure that what she imagined Tirion to be was really a jumble of Menegroth, Nargothrond, and maybe a little bit of Mithrim thrown in.

There was a knock on the door.

“Are you decent?”

She smiled.

Trust Gildor to make sure she wasn’t left to get ready on her own.

“Decent enough for you, Gil,” she grinned. “At least, unless any of the Tirion folks are about.”

She and her cousin – who was really more like her brother, on account of both of them being only children and the same age – have been taught Noldorin ways and the Noldorin language, but there was no getting around the fact that there were plenty of what the Noldor call ‘Sindar’ in Nargothrond, and more of them have children than the Noldor. As a result, most people their age and younger if given any choice behave more like Sindar than Noldor in many ways, whether they’re actually Sindarin or not.

Gildor laughed.

“Not sure why they care. We go swimming all the time.”

Swimming was something the Sindar loved. But unlike the Noldor, they didn’t have special costumes for it. They just took their clothes off and hopped in. The Noldor considered that beyond shocking, since they forbade public nudity, nudity in mixed company…actually, nudity in general, as far as Finduilas could tell.

Aunt Galadriel had tried to explain it once – she was much better than most of their relatives at such things – but neither Finduilas or Gildor had really understood much beyond ‘humor your parents and don’t do things that my grandmother would get upset about where other people can see you and gossip about it.’.

They’d never met Indis. Nor their grandmother – well, Gildor’s grandmother, her great-grandmother – Eärwen or grandfather Arafinwë. There was a whole long list of Noldorin relatives they only knew from being told about them by their fathers, uncles, and Aunt Galadriel. There was also another list of Noldorin relatives in Beleriand who don’t live in Nargothrond.

Finduilas has been told she had met Uncle Nolofinwë – she was born in Mithrim, so of course he’d been there, and Uncle Fingon – but she had been too young at the time to remember. Gildor had never been anywhere but Nargothrond, but he’d gotten to meet some of the other uncles she’s never seen, like Uncle Curufin and Uncle Celegorm and Uncle Maglor and Uncle Maedhros, who have all visited, but only ever when Finduilas was away with her parents in Doriath. (She didn’t think they did it on purpose. They just tended to visit at festival times, which was also when her parents went visiting.)

Finduilas was emphatically not envious about that. After all, she’s met loads of relatives Gildor hasn’t. Like Melian. And Luthien. And Thingol. And…that’s it, really, because all the rest of the Doriathrin kin have come to visit Nargothrond at one point or another.

Gildor grinned and sprawled on the floor next to the bed as Finduilas slipped into her underdress.

“I have chairs, you know.”

“The rug’s comfy, you know,” he replied.

“You’re going to get a scolding if you mess up your brand new tunic laying around on the floor,” she pointed out.

“You’ll get a scolding yourself if you don’t hurry up and get dressed,” he shrugged. “ _ I’m _ not the one who’s supposed to start the singing…”

But he did stand up and help her with the overdress.

“I don’t see why not, you’re the Prince of Nargothrond, not me,” she grumbled.

“Because Atto knows as well as you do that everyone would much rather hear you sing,” Gildor said cheerfully. “Besides, Tarnin Austa is your favorite. I prefer the starlight vigil at Yestarë.”

Gildor wasn’t  _ bad _ at singing, but nor was his voice generally considered as clear or beautiful as hers or his father’s. It’s never bothered him in the least that she was usually chosen to lead any song at such ceremonies if Finrod didn't do the honors himself.

“Have you thought about who you’ll start the dancing with?” he continued. “Did you want your hair braided or loose?”

“Loose,” she said, answering the easier question first.

It gave her time to think while he started brushing her hair out, which was good. She hadn’t given the slightest thought to the dancing. It hadn’t occurred to her until Gildor said it that with her mother in Doriath, she would have to decide for herself. And doubtless everyone would pay closer attention than usual to who she danced with. Especially the first dance with someone other than Uncle Finrod or Gildor, who everyone knew were always her first partners.

The Noldor might be great craftsmen and scholars, but she had long since concluded that gossip was their collective sport. Finrod never danced with anyone but his female kin, so there was nothing for anyone to read into those dances. Gildor had a strict policy of always switching off who he danced with, so there was equally little to talk about in his choice of partners.

Until now, Finduilas had always been advised by her parents who her first dances should be with – generally either court officials who could be trusted to dance with the king’s niece without it giving rise to chatter, or visiting dignitaries if there were any, followed by those her parents felt should receive some mark of royal favor. Only after her mother’s list was exhausted was she free to socialize as she wished with folk her own age.

She hadn’t paid the slightest attention to current politics the past few weeks, so she had no idea if there was anyone in particular her uncle would wish her to dance with. Just picking a friend or acquaintance was out of the question, since it would probably ignite rumors that she was considering marriage. She wished she’d thought to ask her mother before her parents departed. She supposed she could always appeal to Aunt Galadriel…

Gildor laughed softly.

“You’re worrying far too much,” he said. “Do the first dances after Atto and me with Uncle Celeborn, then Uncle Celegorm – no one will dare say anything about  _ him _ .”

Finduilas met his eyes in the mirror.

“Is he that terrifying?” she asked, trying to imagine how he could possibly keep the tittle-tattle at bay.

This time his laugh was genuine.

“No, he’s actually very nice! But they say he’s protective of his younger kin – actually, he’ll tell you that part himself – and has a bit of a temper, so few will be willing to so much as whisper about you in his hearing.”

Finduilas rolled her eyes.

“If the Noldor didn’t insist on treating politics like a spectator sport and gossip like an official pastime, no one would whisper in the first place.”

Gildor snorted as he finished with her hair.

“It’s what they do. Besides, if the Noldor didn’t insist on complicating everything, none of us would even be here in the first place,” he reminded her. “Your father and mine would both still be in Tirion. Anyway, if Aunt Galadriel gives you a name or two, that should be enough for the duty dances, and then we can slip out to the Hall of Arches for a bit. By the time anyone feels like going back to the Great Hall, the adults will have been celebrating long enough they’ll be over politics and gossip. At least, the petty variety that worries about who dances with who.”

“I thought I might find both of you in here.”

Gildor and Finduilas both jumped, slightly guiltily, at the sound of their Aunt Galadriel’s voice. Fortunately, she looked more amused than disapproving.

“Just as well you’ve had a chaperone the whole time, isn’t it?” she said with a smile. “Here, Gilya, I’ll finish her hair.”

That was Aunt Galadriel’s way of saying she wouldn’t tell on them to anyone who would care. (Finduilas wasn’t exactly sure who that would be anyway – Uncle Ingo trusted them to behave and not do anything truly wrong, Uncle Celeborn wouldn’t bother about Noldorin rules, and her father wasn’t here to fuss. It was obvious Aunt Galadriel wasn’t upset.)

“I take it you’ve been telling Findë all about Tyelko? Did you mention Huan yet?”

Finduilas would have shaken her head if she hadn’t known to hold still.

“Just a word of warning, little one, Tyelko’s been known to set Huan to ‘babysit’ the youngest, and right now that’s you two.”

“We don’t need babysitting!” Finduilas protested.

“Ah, but tell that to your many uncles,” Galadriel laughed. “They’re hardly about to agree you’re all grown up already when they’ve only just gotten used to the idea that you’re not a baby! Oh, your uncle was going to suggest you dance one round with Guilin – he’s apparently just done something quite gallant on the borders – but I told him that you’d probably prefer one of Guilin’s sons, as they’re more your own age.”

Finduilas sighed in relief. She was just as happy to not have to make small talk with one of the many lords of Nargothrond she didn’t know very well. Besides…

“Perfect, you can dance with Gwindor,” Gildor beamed. “I told his brother I would try to get him a dance with you anyway, I just thought it wouldn’t be until the Hall of Arches.”

Finduilas tried not to blush. She would much rather dance with Gwindor as well, but she wasn’t about to  _ tell _ anyone that. Well, maybe Gildor. He’d probably guessed it anyway, or he wouldn’t look so pleased with himself for conniving with Gelmir to set them up.

Gildor gave her his most innocent looking smile.

_ You’re not fooling anyone! _ she informed him.

His smile turned into a full-blown grin when Galadriel joined the conversation.

_ Oh? What isn’t he fooling anyone about, dear? _

\---

By the time they left the family rooms, Finduilas was more than happy to be out in public, where she had a bit more space to avoid Aunt Galadriel’s curiosity.

There would be a family dinner, of course, and the main festivities wouldn’t begin until later in the evening.

The grownups all talked as if Tarnin Austa was some new thing, but it had been going on all Finduilas’ life – slightly longer, actually, since it had started in Mithrim before the Noldor had dispersed. Originally, it had been more solemn, but over the years it had become increasingly festive, eventually turning into a night and day of celebration. Technically, it started at sundown, when families would gather to eat together. Then there would be music and dancing all through the night, and everyone would gather in the hour before dawn to watch for the sun and join in song as it rose.

A few people had gathered, mostly to catch a glimpse of the king and his family as they went into dinner in the Small Hall – the Great Hall was already set up for the music and dancing that anyone in the kingdom who wished to attend was invited for.

She was surprised when a dog nearly as big as a horse came bounding up to her, all fur and enthusiasm.

“Huan, behave yourself!” Aunt Galadriel said sharply from behind her. “Don’t you dare wreck her dress!”

“Easy, Artë, he’s never yet eaten any of the babies,” a cheerful sounding voice called. “Besides, that one looks big enough to not need to worry about being mistaken for a doggy biscuit anymore.”

Finduilas couldn’t help the giggle.

“Yes, of course that was my concern,” Aunt Galadriel sniffed. “Findë, this is my cousin Tyelko. He probably has any number of stories about your father as a boy if you care to worm them out of him.”

Uncle Tyelko grinned at her.

He looked nothing like what she had expected – he was one of the Noldorin cousins from up north, so she’d been expecting dark hair. But instead, his hair was as silver as any of her Iathrin relatives. He was somewhat taller than Uncle Celeborn or Uncle Oropher, but not as tall as Uncle Elu. If it weren’t for his clearly Finwion features, she might have thought Aunt Galadriel was playing a prank on her.

“This is Resto’s little one?” Uncle Tyelko boomed. “There must be some mistake. Someone was quite insistent she was barely more than a toddler!”

He picked her up in a bear hug as easily as if she had been a little girl like he’d been told.

“Hello, there. I’m not nearly as bad as whatever your aunt has been telling you. And Huan there is harmless – I’ve already told him to look out for you. He’ll make sure no one does anything dastardly like spill wine all over your new dress. Though I suppose it wouldn’t really show on that color, would it? Even a dark red would blend right in.”

Aunt Galadriel was giving Uncle Tyelko a dire look.

“You talk as if the lunk who spilled red on my white dress wasn’t  _ you _ , Tyelko,” she said.

“I’ve missed you too, Artë,” Uncle Tyelko replied with a rakish smile. “So kind of you to graciously permit me to invade your other kingdom.”

_ They’re always like this, Atto says _ .

She glanced over at Gildor to find him smirking at their aunt and uncle’s verbal sparring.

“Hey there, Huan, who’s a good boy?” Gildor asked cheerfully.

“Huan’s definitely a good boy,” Uncle Tyelko agreed. “Just watch he doesn’t take it into his head to investigate the dinner table before the rest of us.”

Finduilas could have sworn the Huan gave his elf a dirty look at that.

“Shame Tyelpë couldn’t come this trip,” Uncle Tyelko continued, speaking more to the grownups. “He’s a bit older than these two, but I imagine he’d rather spend time with them than be the only one in his generation around.”

“Where is he, Tyelko?”

Uncle Ingo had joined them, Uncle Celeborn with him.

“Curvo sent him to Helevorn for the holiday. Moryo’s got some Sindarin followers, so there’s a handful of young folks there. Though if we’d known both these two would be here, I might have been able to persuade Curvo this was the better idea. He’s quite keen on Tyelpë getting to spend time with the rest of our kin.”

“Yes, well, we didn’t know ourselves in time to send you word. Findë was allowed to choose for herself if she wanted to go to Menegroth or remain here, and I was waiting to hear if she’d be here before I made a decision about whether Gildor should stay or go up to Mithrim.”

“Maybe Tyelpë could come next year?” Finduilas offered hopefully. She was eager to meet more of her northern kin.

“I think he might at that,” Uncle Tyelko laughed. “No sense sending him round to meet all our followers and not know his own cousins, eh, Ingo?”

Uncle Ingo laughed.

“Tell Curvo he can blame this one on me. But we really should get them all in one place at some point soon.”

“This one?” Gildor asked.

“You remember Uncle Curvo came down several years back when we had the party for your coming of age,” Uncle Ingo prompted.

“Yes,” Finduilas said cautiously.

There was nothing  _ wrong _ with Uncle Curvo, and she didn’t dislike him, but he wasn’t as jolly as Uncle Tyelko.

“Well I had hoped he’d bring his son with him, but there was a spate of orc attacks around that time – Hithlum, Himring, and Himlad all were in a state of high alert – so he wouldn’t hear of Tyelperinquar traveling.”

“Yes, yes, Curvo’s overcautious, and you’ve dithered, so now you’re even,” Tyelko snorted. “Next time, I’m going to insist the boy comes, even if I have to dragoon half the garrison into escort detail.”

“Is it really that dangerous?” Finduilas asked.

She didn’t miss the adults trading looks – some of those directed at Uncle Tyelko were rather pointed.

“It’s not as if we’re attacked every time we travel, but one can’t be too cautious, particularly with children,” Uncle Tyelko replied easily. “I don’t blame my brother being cautious, but there is taking it too far. And if the poor boy doesn’t get here to spend some time with you when things are as calm as they can be up north, that’s overcautious to my mind.”

Finduilas glanced at Gildor, who looked to be as intrigued as she was by their cousin up north.

“We should write to him,” she suggested. “Then he will have a reason to tell his father he wants to come next time.”

Uncle Tyelko grinned.

“Excellent. I’ll take your letters back with me, and make sure we find messengers to run the replies.”

The adults’ conversation turned to boring things like logistics of supplying the various fortresses in the north, and what Uncle Moryo – another faraway northern Noldo – was up to in Helevorn.

Finduilas did her best to pay attention, but it was hard to focus on places she’d never been and wouldn’t be allowed to go in the foreseeable future. Instead, she focused on the delicious dinner that featured at least one favorite food of each person at the table, and tried not to be distracted by thoughts of dancing with Gwindor.

Guilin’s younger son was just old enough that he had been born in Tirion and been able to choose to follow his father and older brother Gelmir – but not so much older that she filed him with her parents or aunts and uncles under ‘adults’. He definitely belonged to the younger set of Nargothrond.

She wasn’t sure what it was about him that drew her attention so. He was mostly Noldorin in his looks, with the dark hair and complexion typical of the folk of Tirion. But he had startling blue eyes that were unusual among both his own people and her mother’s. From what she had seen of him, he had a kind heart and a ready smile. But he must also be brave – he was a warden and spent time patrolling the borders of Nargothrond, protecting them from orcs and spies of the Enemy.

_ You’ll have a chance to get to know him better _ , Gildor suggested slyly – and quietly, since more than just Aunt Galadriel might overhear. She’d probably die of embarrassment on the spot if Uncle Ingo started asking questions in front of everyone.

Gildor laughed and subsided, leaving her to contemplate his role in all this over dessert.

\---

“You did  _ what _ ?” Gwindor asked in horror.

“Hinted to Gildor that you wouldn’t mind dancing with Princess Finduilas,” his brother replied cheerfully, with that infuriating grin.

“Someone kill me now, it will be better than perishing of mortification in front of the entire kingdom,” Gwindor groaned.

“Boys, this really is a little over the top,” their father Guilin broke in.

It might have sounded like a reproof were he not smiling as he said it.

“Relax, Gwindor. I’m sure the young princess would much rather a dance with one of you two than with me, and it seems to me your brother has been rather gallant.”

Gelmir raised a ‘see, Atto agrees with  _ me _ ’ eyebrow.

“Why should she have to dance with any of us at all?” Gwindor protested. “I doubt she even knows who I am!”

“Oh, I think she does,” Gelmir smirked.

“How would you even know?”

“Because I have eyes, you goose! She may not usually be about when you’re with Gildor and the others, but she is sometimes, and she always keeps an eye on  _ you _ when she is.”

“Boys, this is meant to be a festive, holiday dinner, not a round of bickering. If I wanted that, I’ve only to go to the barracks and ask who is responsible for the mess.”

Gwindor subsided, but mostly because he had no good answer to his brother anyway. He had no idea why Princess Finduilas would pay him the least bit of attention. He was just one more Exile in a kingdom full of them and hadn’t done anything special or noteworthy that would make him stand out, even if he was a friend of Prince Gildor’s. Him being a bit smitten with her made sense – especially since Gildor adored his cousin and sang her praises at every opportunity. He wouldn’t be surprised to hear that all the young men in their circle were taken with her.

It would be nice to think she did take an interest in him, but a bit unrealistic. And he usually tried to be realistic. Wishful thinking didn’t help anyone, not in Nargothrond. (If wishful thinking could help, the vast majority of them would be safely back in Tirion, and putting up with all the ‘I told you so’ sure to come their way would be a small price to pay.)

The rest of dinner passed largely in silence – on Gwindor’s and Gelmir’s part, trying not to start up the ‘bickering’ again. He suspected his father was silent because Guilin was thinking on the wife and daughter he’d left in Aman. He was always a bit melancholy at festivals.

Gwindor, when he thought about his mother and little sister, usually was thankful that they had stayed in safety. They hadn’t suffered on the Ice or been subject to the dangers of Beleriand. He occasionally wondered what Lintamaitë had grown up to become, and whether she missed them – or whether she even remembered them, young as she had been when they departed Tirion.

Atto had made a particular effort with dinner tonight, mostly things he knew his sons had loved as children, but with a few newer, Sindarin things thrown in. Gwindor wondered if perhaps he should ask his father about how to make some of the Noldorin dishes. He wasn’t much of a cook, but more for lack of practice than anything else.

Gelmir’s smirk said that he’d followed Gwindor’s thought process easily.

No, maybe it was better not to ask. Or at least to ask later, when his nosy older brother wouldn’t be there to make fun of him.

“It might impress Finduilas,” Gelmir suggested in an undertone when their father went to the small kitchen to fetch dessert.

“Oh shut up,” Gwindor muttered.

After dessert, when he retreated to his room to dress, to his surprise Gelmir followed him.

“Here,” he said briskly. “You should wear this instead of your usual sash.”

The fabric his brother held out was a dark reddish color. It didn’t clash with his tunic, but Gwindor preferred the usual gold one that went with it.

“Why?” he asked, wondering if this was some practical joke his brother was playing.

“Just trust me, would you?” Gelmir sighed. “There’s nothing wrong with it, and it will look good on you. Besides, you’ll thank me later.”

“Fine, if it’s that important to you,” Gwindor snorted. “Just please get out and leave me to dress in peace? Seeing as we both know you’re going to torment me the rest of the night about dancing with Princess Finduilas?”

“If you insist,” his brother grinned, offering him a sarcastic bow before leaving – and taking the gold sash with him to be sure Gwindor couldn’t change his mind.

\---

Finduilas wasn’t nervous as she followed Gildor and her great-uncle into the Great Hall. There was no reason to be. She’s done this annually every year since she could remember. (And this year, she had the added benefit of Uncle Tyelko, who had whispered to her that if anyone ‘got fresh’ to just tell him, and he and Huan would ‘take care of it’.)

But this year was a little bit different. For once, she was actually looking forward to the first non-family dance.

And Gildor was up to something. As they’d walked in, he’d somehow ended up with a bit of gold fabric.

“What’s that for?” she asked in a whisper.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll explain later,” he hissed. “Go on up for the singing!”

She would have liked to pester him for a better answer, but she had to join Uncle Ingo on the dais for the song that would open the public festivities. It was a song to Varda and Yavanna, thanking them for their blessings and rejoicing at their willingness to share Laurelin’s last fruit with all the world. She gave him a look as she went that warned him the conversation was definitely not over.

The song itself was beautiful. It had been written by Uncle Kano, the best composer of the Noldor. It was followed by a Sindarin song about the beauty of Beleriand written by Daeron that took the form of a musical conversation between two speakers, with her taking one part and Uncle Ingo the other. The applause when they finished was rapturous.

Finduilas dearly hoped that someday there would be another feast like the Mereth Aderthad she’d heard the adults talk about – it was the only time that Daeron and Uncle Kano had been in the same place, and the way everyone who heard the musical competition and then collaboration that ensued talked of it, it must have been amazing.

She stepped down to open the dancing with Uncle Ingo feeling the satisfaction of a job well done.

“Why so cheerful?” her great-uncle asked as he whirled them about the dance floor. “Does this have anything to do with a certain dance with Guilin’s son?”

He smiled – that same deceptively innocent smile Gildor had perfected, to the point where Finduilas has wondered if they both practiced it in a mirror.

“Gildor  _ told _ ,” Finduilas hissed indignantly.

Uncle Ingo laughed.

“No, he didn’t. I heard an earful from my sister about how terrible it was of me to contemplate having you dance with ‘some stuffy courtier of our generation’. Though I must say in his defense that I’ve never found Guilin at all stuffy.”

“I don’t really know,” Finduilas admitted.

She wasn’t sure she could have picked Guilin out from any courtier.

“At any rate, I agreed it would doubtless be more enjoyable for you to dance with someone more your own age, and Gildor was quite quick to suggest that it should be Guilin’s  _ younger  _ son. I, of course, objected that his older brother might feel slighted, but Gildor was quite insistent that would not be the case. He seemed curiously well informed…”

Finduilas refused to be drawn on the subject, but was aware that she was blushing. She hoped no one else could hear this conversation.

“Don’t worry, they can’t,” Uncle Ingo blithely assured her. “And even if they did, I imagine the worst reaction you’d face was a certain amount of singed ego and jealousy from young men who would change places with young Gwindor in a heartbeat.”

“You sound like you approve,” Finduilas said cautiously.

“Gwindor is a fine young man, and while I can’t say I know him well, I certainly wouldn’t object to getting to know him better. And I suspect your parents would say the same.”

That, as far as she could tell, was Uncle Ingo trying not to interfere.

The first dance came to a close to polite applause and other couples flowing onto the floor.

Finduilas looked around for Gildor and found him bowing to Aunt Galadriel with the cheeky grin he generally reserved just for her. When she reached them, his grin altered slightly.

“Findë!” he exclaimed cheerfully. “Here…”

He looped the gold fabric he’d been carrying earlier around her. Now that it wasn’t all folded up in his hands, it was obviously a sash, but not one that belonged to her.

“It doesn’t match!” she protested.

“Really? It’s gold. I thought it went with the dress quite well,” Gildor replied, steering them back out to the dance floor before she could do anything about it. “Look, it matches the embroidery.”

“It isn’t part of my dress,” she persisted.

“You can start a new fashion trend," he suggested with a smirk.

He’d won the point anyway, because the only way for her to take it off now would be to interrupt the dance, and that would be noticed by half the hall.

“What are you up to?” she asked curiously.

“What makes you think I’m up to anything?”

“Your sudden interest in my accessories,” she replied. “It is rather remarkable from someone whose father regularly reproves him for his utter lack of interest in his clothes.”

“I’m making an exception tonight,” Gildor shrugged. “Turning over a new leaf.”

“Making new and interesting mischief?” Finduilas suggested sweetly.

“Maybe!” he laughed. “Don’t be so suspicious.”

To her surprise, the music was winding down already, indicating this dance was at an end. Which meant.

“Oh, look,” Gildor said, feigning surprise remarkably badly. “I believe this is your partner for the next dance.”

She looked up to find he had maneuvered them into stopping right by Gwindor and Gelmir. Gelmir was giving his younger brother a slight shove toward them, which led to the fascinating possibility that she might not be the only one equal parts interested and nervous about this dance.

Gwindor looked even more handsome close up, especially with that slight blush as she met his eyes.

“Good evening, my princess,” he said quietly.

“Good evening, Lord Gwindor,” she replied, trying not to curse her nerves when it came out slightly breathless.

He was wearing a tunic darker than her dress, but accented with a sash that matched her skirt almost perfectly. She wondered how he had known…and swiftly concluded the answer had to be ‘Gildor’.

Indeed, her ‘brother’ and Gwindor’s were wearing matching smug looks as Gwindor took her hand and led the way back to the dance floor.

\---

To say he was nervous as Gildor guided Finduilas toward them was an understatement. He’d just listened to her enchant the entirety of Nargothrond with her singing, and watched her look like a ray of sunlight made into an elf dancing with the King.

It just might be a good thing that Gelmir had a firm hand at his back. He might well have disgraced himself by running away otherwise.

It was one thing to see the princess laughing and smiling from a distance. It was something different – and much more breathtaking – up close.

“I believe this is your partner for the next dance,” Prince Gildor said by way of introduction.

Oh, he got it now. 

His brother and Gildor must have been conniving to make this happen. And – was that his sash she was wearing? He tried not to blush as he realized that it definitely was. What’s more, the sash that sneaky brother of his had insisted on looked like it might well have been filched from the princess’ room, for it was a perfect match to her dress.

Coherent thought ground to a screeching halt as Finduilas’ eyes met his.

“Good evening, my princess,” he managed to get out, thankful he hadn’t tripped over his own tongue.

“Good evening, Lord Gwindor,” she replied in a voice like a summer’s day.

He didn’t dare so much as glance at his brother or Prince Gildor as he led Princess Finduilas out to dance. (He also pretended not to see the looks coming his way from several elves his own age or somewhat younger, who probably had hopes of their own regarding the princess.)

He felt a little uncomfortable, leading a dance with so many people watching, not all of them entirely friendly, but it would look worse to be seen to need her to help, so he focused on the princess and ignored the rest of the hall.

“I regret we haven’t been properly introduced before now,” he began, deciding it would be awkward to pass the entire dance in silence. (Not to mention, he might have only this one chance to talk with her like a normal person. He’d  _ definitely _ only have this one chance if he blew it.)

“I know who you are, Lord Gwindor,” she replied airily. “You’re Gelmir’s younger brother.”

“Yes,” he agreed, not sure where to go from there. It wasn’t as if  _ she _ needed any introduction.

“Look, I’m really sorry if Gildor’s twisted your arm into this,” she began in a rush. “I didn’t know until just now that he’d been all sneaky.”

“No, it’s…”

Gwindor swallowed.

“I think it was my brother, as well,” he tried to explain. “I mean, I didn’t raid your closet or anything. And he meant well, he knows I…”

He trailed off, realizing belatedly that ‘I think you’re amazing’ probably wasn’t the best thing to blurt out.

“Knows you what?” Finduilas asked, looking truly interested, her blue-grey eyes fixed on him in curiosity.

“Knows I think you’re very interesting,” he mumbled, trying not to blush.

Her smile was sunlight on the water, a golden glimpse of happier times.

_ Faelivrin, _ he thought, but quietly – the Arafinwions were rumored to be highly talented at osanwë, and his father had said the King could often hear thoughts not voiced.

He realized with a start that the music for their dance was coming to an end. Had that really been a whole song already?

\---

Finduilas couldn’t have avoided noticing how nervous Gwindor was if she’d wanted to. She definitely hadn’t been the only one fretting about this – or the only one with a conniving brother, as it turned out.

Really, it was rather sweet that they’d ended up matching. And he’d tried to apologize for his brother. She wondered if that meant she ought to apologize for Gildor’s role in this as well.

She wasn’t sure why  _ Faelivrin _ was a compliment in his mind, but she’d dearly love to find out. She’d never had anyone but her parents give her a name before. (Well, technically he hasn’t told her about it, so she’d probably better pretend she hadn’t heard it, Gwindor was self-conscious enough already. But maybe he would tell her? If she kept talking with him?)

The music was coming to a pause, to give everyone a chance to switch partners for the next round of dancing. That was her duty dances done; she could make her escape to the Hall of Arches.

Only now that she thought about it, perhaps it could be less  _ her  _ escape than  _ their  _ escape?

“Um, it’s been lovely dancing with you,” she began. “But I usually sort of…sneak out about now?”

“Yes, of course, I understand,” Gwindor replied, looking crestfallen.

“No, I only meant, well–” She tried not to show that this was actually something of a big deal to her. “Would you like to come with me? Some of us go up to the Hall of Arches, where we can see the stars all night. We don’t usually come back in until it’s time for the dawn vigil.”

A smile blossomed on Gwindor’s face, and she couldn’t help but smile in return.

“I’d love to go with you, my lady.”

She smiled. She liked the sound of that almost as much as she liked Faelivrin.

\---

Neither one of them noticed Gelmir and Gildor exchanging triumphant looks as they slipped away from the Great Hall.

“Bets on how long until the betrothal is announced?” Gelmir suggested.

“No bet,” Gildor replied.

“You don’t think it will work out?” Gelmir asked in surprise.

“No, I just think it’s unfair to take anything off of you on a sure thing. They’ll be together by winter and announcing they intend to marry within five,” Gildor said with certainty. “You and I are going to have to find other targets for matchmaking, my friend. Those two are set.”


End file.
